Weddings and Roses
by silvergryphon06
Summary: They've destroyed the darkspawn and saved Fereldan. Surely that deserves some kind of reward?


_**A/N: Hello all, this can be considered the epilogue to "A Rose for Alistair" or as a stand alone piece, however you might wish to read it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing about the utterly gorgeous and sweet Alistair :D**_

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, just simply write about my favorite Dragon Age character.  
**

Alistair fought down the urge to run his hands through his hair as he stood before the altar. What did he have to be nervous about? He was king, had slain the archdemon, brought peace to his people...oh, right, he was about to get married to the most gorgeous woman on the face of Fereldan. Yep, that would make any sane bloke nervous. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back in his father's golden armor from the heat of all the candles. He glanced back at the Arl, who in turn gave him a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder. He then leaned forward and whispered to him, motioning towards the door.

"Steady, lad, you'll do fine. Just look at how lovely your bride is on her brother's arm."

Alistair hadn't even heard the doors open, yet when he looked up, he was sure the world stopped. Every doubt, every thought he had flew clean out of his head as he gazed at what he knew as the center of his world. Her lively green eyes danced as she smiled, her blond hair left to flow freely in a cascade of curls down her back. In one hand, she held a bouquet of red and pink roses, while the other was placed on the arm of her older brother, Fergus, who was beaming down at her fondly. Her dress was simple, gently hugging her curves in places Alistair had been dreaming about for months. Ever since he had been declared king by the Landsmeet, they had been forced to sleep separately, barely able to steal occasional kisses in dark hallways of the castle. He could feel his hands itching to caress the smooth, creamy skin hidden beneath the fabric. His gaze left her face to wander appreciatively at how the dress dipped just low enough on her chest to tease him unmercifully. Further down, his eyes locked on her long, shapely legs and he had to beat down the need that was quickly rising in his blood.

When he raised his head to look back into her beautiful face, he found her almost grinning at what had to be his dumbstruck expression and he suddenly remembered that he had to breathe. She was at his side by the time he figured out exactly how to do that again, her smile never faltering. He felt her small, warm hand take his larger, currently clammy one. Forcing himself to tear his gaze from the radiant vision of his bride, he managed to keep the appearance of paying attention to the Reverent Mother's words of love and blessings. He bit back a yelp when he felt her foot jam subtly on his toes, noting that was probably his cue that he needed to find his voice again. He cleared his throat loudly and managed to speak his vows, his eyes locked on hers, finally able to relax somewhat as he pledged his love to her, to cherish and protect her as long as he lived. She spoke her own softly, her words stirring his heart, even as his mind was entirely focused on imagining ripping that dress to shreds and starting their wedding night right there on the altar, propriety be damned.

Still, his Templar training served him well, as he kept his desire under control, barely, and as soon as the last prayer was said and they were allowed to leave the castle's Chantry, he was sorely tempted to drag her to some dark corner and have his wicked way with her. As it was, he had to endure the constant stream of congratulations and well wishes in the Dining Hall. He muttered and mumbled his thanks,yet all the while, he could not look away from his new wife. Alistair would swear later that her face glowed. Her graceful movements as she spoke to their guests captivated him. A motion of her hand, a glance, a turn of her head, all set his mind spinning in naughty directions and he prayed fervently to the Maker to have mercy on his poor soul and make everyone disappear in a puff of smoke. Alas, the Maker was still away somewhere that day and Alistair had to wait with growing agitation as the people continued to mill about, laughing and drinking. During a brief lull in the well wishers, he grumbled under his breath and strode to a table to grab a glass of wine; Maker's Breath, but he needed one. He stood with his eyes closed, contemplating on swallowing the contents of his glass in one gulp, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He started to turn, but then he heard her voice in his ear.

"I can tell by your glare that you are more than ready to leave our guests."

He turned towards her slightly and gave her a grin. But then she whispered something else, words that made his body instantly become rock hard.

"Follow me, then, my husband. I plan to ride you tonight until that legendary Grey Warden stamina utterly...gives...out."

He had to take several deep breaths before he could turn around again. Maker, she was going to most certainly be the death of him. As he fought to calm his raging body, he opened his eyes to see his wife send him a sultry glance over her shoulder as she weaved her way towards the doorway and he knew she was swaying her hips in just that way to taunt him. His blood burned and roared in his ears as he watched her slip out of the hall, beckoning him to follow her. It was when he reached the corridor that he had to chuckle at his absolute inability to refuse her. Well, who was he to refuse his queen's wishes? Trying to not seem like some kind of randy schoolboy, he walked as quickly as he could towards his, no, _their_, bedchamber. His imagination running rampant, he practically flew up the steps and made the turn just in time to see his bride disappearing through the door. Cursing his clanking armor, he jerked open the door and stopped in his tracks.

There she was, looking at him with a gleam in her green eyes that took his breath away. She raised her hands that had been hanging loosely up her sides to run them slowly along her hips, her ribcage, smoothing her dress, making his trousers painfully tight as she spoke huskily,

"Do you want to touch me, my King?"

He swallowed hard, his mouth having gone completely dry. Was that a trick question? Dear Andraste, he was dying to touch her, to taste her, to make love to her till she couldn't walk straight. But all he could do was nod dumbly and she motioned him forward. He obeyed, having enough presence of mind to close and lock the door behind him. It was that smile that did it, that gorgeous, irresistible, "come hither" smile that made his breath catch and sent his heart hammering in his chest. Just like that, he had crossed the room in three strides and grabbed her waist, lips crashing down onto hers. Maker, but she tasted so good, like raspberries and light and whatever else made his head spin and her body to simply melt against him. He parted her lips urgently with his tongue, tangling one hand in her hair as the other held her against him, cradling the small of her back. She kissed him back eagerly and sipped at his lower lip, driving him crazy with need for her. When he broke away, it was only to take a gasp of air before nuzzling her neck, inhaling her scent. She made a small, mewling sound as he brushed his lips over the sensitive place just beneath her ear and he smiled, loving the sounds he could elicit from her.

"Maker, woman, but you make me crazy", he murmured against her throat, pressing tiny kisses down to her collarbone.

"Alistair, please..."

He didn't need to be asked twice, as he raked his hands over her body, relishing the feel of her curves beneath his palms. He groaned into her hair as she nibbled along his jaw. He felt her hands at his sides tugging at the straps that held his armor, but he was reluctant to remove his own from her body, the sensation of soft fabric sliding over her skin too much to resist. He needn't have worried, as she deftly had unclasped the buckles and the plate clanged against the floor, unheeded. When those wicked fingers found their way under his shirt to dance across his stomach down to the front of his trousers, he growled in her ear before nipping it gently. She gasped, then retaliated by rubbing the palm of her hand against his hardness and he lost all control then. He threw off his shirt, groaning as she squeezed him, then practically ripped the lovely gown from her, crushing her against his chest, his hands on every inch of skin he could reach. She moaned against his lips and he swiftly made work of her breast cloth, filling his palms with the soft, round globes. He tore his mouth from hers to place hot, wet kisses down the creamy slopes to her nipples, suckling hard and nudging her back towards the bed with his knee. She complied as her fingers dug into his shoulders, his name tumbling from her lips breathlessly.

As they landed amongst the blankets and furs, he moved to the other, swirling his tongue around the rosy bud, then capturing it between his teeth gently. She cried out at the sensation and he felt her nails raking along his spine, making him shudder. He wanted her so badly that he ached, the tightness in his groin a delicious torture that tore his Templar trained discipline to shreds. He shoved his trousers down, having to stand to completely shed them. She rose to her knees and held up a hand and he held back the whine he felt coming out. Instead, he watched her heatedly, his fists clenched at his sides. Maker, she was killing him with all her teasing, but he couldn't make up his mind if that was a good or bad thing. He decided it wasn't so bad as she crawled on all fours across the big bed towards him, like a cat and he made a note to find out if she purred. He stopped thinking about it once she reached out and slid a single finger along his shaft. He took a shuddering breath. She looked up at him, her lips swollen from his kisses, cheeks flushed with desire and gave him that same smile. He thought he felt his heart stop and knew that he could have died a very happy man right there and then.

"Do you want to feel my mouth on you, my husband? Do you want to watch me bring you that..." she paused and a puff of breath escaped her lips, pulling another groan from deep inside him.

He swallowed hard as he looked down at what was possibly the most erotic thing he had ever seen in his life, sorely tempted, yet not wanting to end this just yet. When he didn't answer, she leaned forward and he felt his manhood throbbing in anticipation as her lips followed the same trail as her finger had, brushing against the tip, down to the base, then up again, repeating till he was ready to throw her back and take her right then, never mind how good it felt. He closed his eyes, desperately trying to will himself back a bit, but they popped open and looked down in shock as he felt her take him fully into her mouth. He groaned, tangling his hands in her curls as she sucked and licked and pumped him towards a release. He couldn't help but to watch her. He felt the pressure building and he quickly pulled her back. She was grinning at him and he swatted her bottom.

'You're a bad, bad wife."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not bad yet."

Before he could reply, she had pulled him down on top of her, then flipped them both over, pinning him. She straddled his hips, sliding searing wet heat against his hardness and his eyes rolled back. She made a purely female smirk and he noticed that women could actually purr.

"Now I'm a bad, bad wife."

He didn't answer, instead grabbing her hips and thrusting inside her in one quick, hard motion and she cried out. Maker, but she felt incredible as her moist warmth squeezed around him. He couldn't get enough of her, his hands running from her hips to cup her swaying breasts, squeezing her perfectly shaped hindquarters, pulling her down to thrust his tongue into her mouth, matching their lower bodies' movements. The long months of being without her like this, without this intimacy had been torture and now he was inside of her, thrusting, pushing her towards her peak and his name falling from her lips like the Chant was enough to send him over the edge, taking her with him. He thrust erratically a few times, then exploded just as she cried out her own climax. She fell across his chest panting, their bodies covered in a fine sheen of sweat. She rolled off of him after she had caught her breath, only to curl up beside him, her head cradled in the curve of his shoulder, her arm draped across him. It wasn't long, though, before her hand began to make long, slow strokes along his body, wandering farther down. He arched a brow and she grinned.

"I said I was going to ride you til exhaustion, my love."

His grin matched hers as he rolled above her, his lips hovering inches above hers.

"What can I say? Your wish is my command."


End file.
